Seventeen Years Ago
by Grey Like Stormy Skies
Summary: Seventeen years ago, you were a different person. Seventeen years ago you could say you were happy, and you wouldn’t be lying. Seventeen years ago, you never would have been able to picture yourself the way you are today. [Sirius oneshot]


_**Seventeen Years Ago**_

Seventeen years ago, you were a different person. Seventeen years ago, you were getting ready to graduate from school. Seventeen years ago, you thought your life had only begun, and the best years were yet to come. Seventeen years ago you could say you were happy, and seventeen years ago you wouldn't be lying.

Seventeen years ago, you believed your three best friends were the most amazing people in the world, and you would have defended them to your death. Seventeen years ago you were happy, because seventeen years ago you didn't know what your future would hold. Seventeen years ago, you were a naïve schoolboy.

But now as you sit at the table, staring at a doorway you once swore to never walk through again, seventeen years seems very far away. The years you had looked forward to were filled with horror and insanity, and the people you hoped to share them with were dead; if not physically, mentally. If not mentally, you only wished they were.

Thinking of your old friend tears you apart. You think—no, you _know_—it was your fault. Somehow, you should have known, you should have _seen_ that the rat wasn't faithful; you should have realized he would betray the only person who had never let you down. In effect, you were the one who betrayed Him.

When you're thinking these thoughts, you can't bring yourself to say His name. It would make it all the more real, all the more true, all the more _permanent_ if you said his name; this way, there was still a sliver of hope saying it wasn't truly your fault—something you couldn't, wouldn't destroy.

_**You killed my parents.**_

Those words had broken your heart, and your godson didn't even know it. It was those words that had been repeating over and over in your head, and it was those words that refused to let you escape your guilt.

If you tried to be sensible, it would almost seem as though it truly wasn't your fault—how were you supposed to know the rat would betray you all? He was one of your _best friends_. You had all made a promise, one summer night; you often wonder if the rat remembered it. You often wonder how he could have broken such an innocent, trusting friendship so easily.

Seventeen years ago, you were getting ready to graduate. You had seen horror and pain that year, but you had pulled through; you had helped others pull through as well. Seventeen years ago, you had thought the worst of your life was over, and things would only get better. Now, you wished you could have the problems you had seventeen years ago.

Your thumb rubs constantly on a burn mark on the table—two twin brothers had caused it at Christmastime. Christmastime—that was the first time you had been anything close to happy in a long, long time. That was the first time you had been anything close to happy in seventeen years. His son had been with you, and had turned to you for advice. Out of everyone present, he had chosen you, and you knew that one simple act would piece together another piece of your heart. That one simple act took you one step closer to having a loving heart again.

Seventeen years ago, you would have laughed at the thought of Him being a father; now you were brought to tears because He never really got the chance. Technically, it was your job now. Seventeen years ago, the only thought more laughable than him being a father would have been you being one. If you hadn't landed yourself in prison, you would have been able to father the boy for fourteen years; if you hadn't landed yourself in prison, you might have found a way to forgive yourself.

But 'if's' don't matter anymore, as you stay stuck at the kitchen table. The mug next to you was emptied long ago, though you still crave the numb release it provided. Your last remaining friend will be coming over soon; you have to get yourself together. Thinking these thoughts makes you laugh harshly—the full moon had been the night before; no matter how you look, it will surely be better than your friend.

Seventeen years ago, you would have been sitting on an unmade bed, throwing pillows as you discussed the events of the night before with the three people that made your life worth living. You aren't sure what keeps you alive these days; it might be spite, which you've always believed kept your mother alive, or it might be something different. It might be the fatherly love you can't help but feel for His son, or the brotherly affection you can't deny feeling towards your last remaining friend. Or it could be both.

When you were young, you hated this house. No matter how many other things had changed in the years that had passed, you were sure that hatred had stayed constant. It had been one of the worst feelings in the world, walking back through that front door; you had thought you had finally been rid of the place, yet here you were again.

In the beginning, you offered to go on errands, to do anything to help, but rejection after rejection taught you a lesson. Now, you mostly stayed to yourself; no one wants to visit the surly escaped convict who inhabits the Headquarters, and you like that way. You're tired of the uneasy glances sent around a room when you are present; you are tired of not being trusted.

You spent your entire life forging your own path, and following what you believed to be right. Fourteen years ago, you believed letting the rat play bodyguard was the right thing to do. It was never fear for your life that stopped you from playing that role; it was fear for your friend's life. You couldn't trust yourself to hold such a secret; you knew you wouldn't be able to live with yourself if you told.

Seventeen years ago, He proposed to the woman of his dreams, and seventeen years ago, He was asking you to be his best man. Seventeen years ago, you never would have been able to picture yourself the way you are today.

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A/N: This is a repost of an older one-shot, so if you recognize it, that's why. Thoughts, reactions? I'd love to hear from you. 


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